From today's Spec:

<p>Opinion</p>

<p>STAFF EDITORIAL: Thank You, Columbia</p>

<p>The one day when we don't complain.</p>

<p>November 24, 2004</p>

<p>We know we gripe a lot on this page, and we have no plans to stop. Columbia has a lot to improve on, but we also love this place. On the eve of Thanksgiving, here are a few things about the University for which we’re thankful.</p>

<p>We’re thankful for all the people who make Columbia run on a daily basis—people like public safety officers, custodians, and dining staff. Wilma, we couldn’t make it through the day without your omelets. Officer Maxwell, you’re tough on all the Red Sox fans who come into John Jay, but you always swipe us in with a wink. CAVA volunteers, you sacrifice your Saturday nights to make sure everyone comes home safely after overdoing it at the West End. And thanks, Iris, for getting us through the JJ’s line as quickly as possible every night so that we can go attack our chicken fingers. We love JJ’s, even if our waistlines don’t.</p>

<p>We’re thankful for the presence of a few good sports teams. Whenever Columbia fencers pick up their sabers and épées, they’re unstoppable. We, along with the rest of the nation, are in awe. Cross-country fought hard and ran well to win Heptagonals earlier this semester, and the women placed 13th nationally on Monday.</p>

<p>We’re thankful that we have a president who is committed to affirmative action and academic freedom. We don’t always agree with Lee Bollinger or his administration, but he defends professors’ rights to hold controversial political views and speak their minds. He doesn’t forget his students, either—when the nation was debating the merits of affirmative action, he was the policy’s most outspoken defender.</p>

<p>We’re thankful for attending school in one of the most beautiful urban spaces in the world. McKim, Mead, and White deserve a big posthumous thank you for their remarkable design. We love to sit on Low Steps on a cool evening, looking out over the green oasis of South Lawn and enjoying a moment of calm in a city full of pitch and concrete. We’re also thankful to go to school in the world’s capital—there truly is no better environment for students to receive a complete social, cultural and intellectual education.</p>

<p>We’re thankful for a lot of little things: never having to walk more than 10 minutes to class; the lights on College Walk in December; free concerts from big-name musical acts at Bacchanal each spring; four-year guaranteed housing in the worst real estate market in the country; the seventh-biggest library system in the world.</p>

<p>Columbia is far from perfect, but we love it. From the cookies in Ferris Booth to the free admission we get at MoMA and the Met, there are many wonderful aspects to life at this school. Thanks to all the people who make it so.</p>

<p>Good idea, Sac. I should have thought of posting that here! :)</p>

<p>on the subject of being thankful.. i found this really touching article that was posted up on some other board...
i think that all of us can get pretty self-absorbed in our lives..
and all the times we stress and spaz out may sometime blind us from the bigger picture. (i know that this happens to me a lot these days..)
but reading this article really made me think how lucky and fortunate i am.. and some of my worries and anxieties seem so trivial in comparison to others' sufferings..
Let's be thankful for all the things we have.. esp. for the fact that we are alive.. and we are blessed with all kinds of circumstances that let us apply to such an amazing school like columbia</p>

<p>xxxxxx</p>

<p>Wake up call- sophomore boy from my school dies in car
crash</p>

<p>Sometimes we lose ourselves in the difficult world we
live in. We forget we're alive, and we forget how to
be thanful. We worry about trivial things, and we
don't appreciate life. To all of you who are worried
about college, please take the time to realize what is
truly important-your friends, your family, and what
you chose to do with your life. Nick Jennings, a
sophomore in my school, died in a car crash two days
ago. Please take the time to read my friend's
editorial.</p>

<p>This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write.
I’ve started and stopped this editorial more times
than I care to count. With bold keystrokes, I have
condemned pages of prose to mechanical oblivion.
For once in my life, I’m at a loss for words.
How do you write about the unthinkable? How do you
seek to answer the unanswerable? How do you address
the unspeakable abomination that is an untimely death,
in which the only real culprit is malicious Fate?
Truth is, I could write this editorial about a
thousand things. I could write about Nick’s penchant
for baggy clothes and obscene belt buckles. I could
write about the sardonic, wiseass humor he brought to
every classroom.
I could write about crying in the gym the day he died,
and about how it was the first time I’d cried since I
was cut from baseball as a sophomore. I could write
about calling my little brother on the phone to tell
him.
I could write about laying a wreath and cross at the
scene of the crash the day he died, and seeing the
Guitar Night poster that some caring soul had framed
and left there.
I could write about how at the memorial on Sunday, I
saw people crying, people who I’d never before
seen—nor ever expected to see—express anything
remotely akin to compassion, or sadness, or any human
emotion. I saw people crying, people who had never met
him, who were weeping because now they’d never get the
chance.
But how can any of these things do justice to the loss
of Nick’s life? To attempt to write about it is
absurd, for no words can capture the horror of a
sixteen year old boy with a shattered back and a
broken heart lying on the side of the road like a used
up rag doll. The most beautiful sermon possible, eve n
if delivered by Christ Himself, could not explain away
why this boy—God, a mere child!---was apologizing to
his friends and family as his life bled away in a
Boston hospital.
Can you see him now? Can you see him lying motionless
on Proctor Hill as the paramedics arrive, and the
first words they hear from his mouth are: “Charley,
are you ok? Charley, are you ok? Oh god…I can’t feel
my body…”
Very few people in this world deserve such a death.
Nick Jennings was not one of them.</p>

<p>I met Nick in our first—and only—year of high school
football. I disliked him instantly. He was a punk, a
snotty freshman jackass who ran with a wild
upperclassmen crowd. If you weren’t in his little
clique, he looked at you with nothing but disdain,
irrespective of how you might treat him. I grew to
hate him intensely.
When I walked into 3rd Period Improv this year to find
him on the roll there, I was ready for another year of
mutual dislike.
But something had changed in Nick. I don’t know what
it was, or when it happened, or who caused it. Neither
do I especially care to know. All I know is that
something had changed. Nick had morphed into a
disgustingly respectable young man—a transformation
that put all of my carefully laid plans to hate him in
check.
While still an artist of the vaunted Jennings wit, he
managed to joke, now, without seeming like a complete
jackass. His jokes ceased to be at the expense of
others—he joked with people.
The fondest memory I will ever have of Nick is from
that class. Nick and Justin Conroy, who, in that
class, were like brothers, were partnered up for a
mime, in which they played firefighters. When Ms. T
told them to play off of the “manly bonding theme”,
they executed, without hesitation, the most beautiful
and appropriate “best friend” handshake I’ve ever seen
in my life. There was something about that
moment—something with the light, and the way it shone
down off Justin’s hair and Nick’s infectious smile;
something about the speed and accuracy in which they
conducted the ritual—that imprinted it indelibly in my
memory, and I hope I always carry it with me.
It’s no secret, to anyone who knew him, that Nick was
far from angelic. He was a daredevil with everything
he did, and his feats of derring-do didn’t end at how
fast he could drive or how outrageous his classroom
antics could be. He drank and smoked and partied
wildly throughout much of freshman year. But when the
change came, as far a I know, he curtailed his vices.
Neither drink nor drugs were factors in his crash. And
the fact that Nick was, as they say, “on the mend”—or,
if you prefer, “getting his life back on track”, if it
was ever off it—makes his death, for me, that much
more unbearable.
It was once said that, “Those who do not fear death
have only experienced it from the chin up.” If that’s
true, anyone who knew him would tell you that Nick had
been brain dead for years before his body followed
suit. His motto was “Live fast, ride hard,”, and he
was as solemnly observant of that maxim as any monk is
of his vows. He was true to the point of death:
riding, stupidly, in a speeding Ford Explorer without
his seatbelt on.</p>

<p>And there are so many more things I want to mention,
and to say so much more clearly.</p>